The People Outside
by Misaia
Summary: "Can't you hear them?" Loki whispers, his mouth trembling. "Maybe not; they are not so loud when you are here to take up all the air and they cannot breathe to shout." X-post from AO3, Thor/Loki university AU
1. Smiles

Cross post from Archive of Our Own, where it goes under the same title.

Written to: Let Her Go - Passenger

* * *

Thor doesn't remember when Loki stopped smiling. The realisation crept up on him gradually, slipping through worrisome stacks of assigned reading material and the holes in the bottoms of his shoes.

It didn't exactly help that his brother had always been rather quiet, preferring to spend most of his waking hours in the company of books, a fact that hadn't changed as he'd begun to attend university. Loki spent most of his time after classes either in the library or in their apartment, reading, drawing, writing, studying. Thor sometimes worried about his brother, who didn't seem to be interested in going to raves on the weekends or getting drunk or having hurried, desperate sex crammed into a frat house bathroom; all of these, as far as Thor was concerned, made up a wholesome and well-rounded uni experience, and Loki was missing out on all of it.

Yet his brother seemed fine, and if he didn't approve of Thor going to raves on the weekends and stumbling home in the quiet hours of the morning smelling sharply of alcohol and the cheap stink of perfume, he held his tongue.

* * *

The last time he remembers Loki smiling is when their parents had sat him down at the breakfast table two days after an eventful doctor's appointment and explained to him that he was adopted.

Odin and Frigga watched him carefully for any signs of distress. Thor sat silently, tensely on the opposite side of the table, found his toast suddenly dry and bitter in his mouth.

Loki didn't say anything for a very long time. When Thor chanced to look up, he found the corners of Loki's mouth twitching sharply upwards, as if he found it amusing how absurdly insane this all was.

Thor does not see the tears that curl into the shadows of Loki's eyes. He does not really understand what his parents mean by a predisposition to a certain disease that he cannot remember right now, does not understand the subtleties of chemical concentrations.

Thor doesn't see how this makes his brother different than he was before, and his parents do not, will not, cannot explain in words that will make his twelve-year-old self understand.

* * *

The night Thor brings home a feisty brunette named Jane or Jennifer or something like that from a sorority party is the same night Loki decides he wants to indulge in one of Thor's favourite methods of entertainment.

Jane/Jennifer falls asleep almost as soon as Thor drags her down onto the beat up couch in the living room. He frowns and hangs his head in despair, the unforgiving material of his jeans pressing uncomfortably into his insistent erection as he turns to her and takes off her too-tall shoes and maneuvers her entire body onto the couch.

A few minutes pass listening to her deep even breathing before he hears Loki clear his throat.

He looks up to see his younger brother's slender form pressed up against the doorway to his room, an amber bottle dangling dangerously from his fingers. His glasses that he wears at night conceal his eyes, and his dark hair has been pulled back into a short, sloppy ponytail. His milky skin glows softly in the dimness of the living room, and Thor's breath catches in his throat.

"Loki," he says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and hoping that the pounding headache he can feel forming will disappear on its own. "What are you still doing up?"

Loki snorts and rolls his eyes. "It's a bit hard to get to sleep when you add your oafish grunts and rustlings to the people shouting outside," he says before lifting the bottle to his lips. Thor watches the graceful slant of Loki's throat as he swallows and, not for the first time, thinks how easily his brother could pass for a woman. "I don't understand how you can find enjoyment in this stuff," Loki says conversationally, lowering the bottle and pulling a face of disgust.

"It is not the taste that I find enjoyable," Thor mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It is how it makes you feel afterwards." He stands up, taking care not to wake the girl beside him, and walks towards Loki. "You've most likely had too much already, if you're hearing things," he comments, easily loosening the bottle's neck from his brother's slack fingers and taking a swallow.

"I don't like her." His brother's voice is quiet, his words slippery and loose. Thor raises an eyebrow and finishes off the beer, rolling the bottle around in his hands.

"You've never met her. How would you know what she's like?"

"They're all the same. Her, those other girls that you sometimes bring back, they're not different."

Thor shrugs. "What would you have me do? Unfortunately, I am unable to find this kind of satisfaction in books and drawings as you are."

"They'll take you away."

Thor laughs, the very idea seeming ridiculous. "I have no plans to marry anyone at the moment. Unfortunately it seems like we'll be living together for quite a while yet."

He looks at Loki and is surprised to see the silver traces of tears winding thin paths down his cheeks.

"Loki, what's wrong?"

His brother presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, but Thor can still see the slim shoulders shaking, can still hear the soft, choked exhales of sobs.

"They'll take you away and then I'll be alone; they'll hurt me if I'm alone."

Thor grasps Loki's wrists and pulls them away from his eyes. His brother looks a messy wreck, brows wrinkled in fear and frustration.

"Who will hurt you?" he asks, hushed.  
"Them," Loki whispers. "The people outside."  
"How can they hurt you? There are no people outside, Loki."

Loki looks confused, tears still stroking gently down the planes of his cheeks. "Can't you hear them?" he whispers, his mouth trembling. "Maybe not; they are not so loud when you are here to take up all the air and they cannot breathe to shout."

* * *

The alcohol floods Thor's head with wanton thoughts, and when next Loki opens his mouth to speak, he presses soft kisses to Loki's thin mouth, unsure of what else to do. When he pulls away, Loki lifts trembling fingers to his lips, puffy and swollen red, his eyes wide and forest green and damp. Thor thinks in that moment that his brother is like a hallucination himself, a beautiful image that might be dispelled by the faintest breath of disbelief, and he reaches out to cradle that pinched face in a rough hand.

"Can you still hear them now, Loki?" he asks, his voice rough.  
"No," his brother breathes, looking at him in wonder. "They're not talking anymore."

Thor's large hands run through Loki's soft hair, tugging it out of the elastic. He can feel Loki's fingers curling into his shirt, still shaky but holding him there tightly. He kisses him again.

Loki tastes like alcohol and salt and something else, and Thor knows that this is insane, madness, that he shouldn't be doing this with Loki of all people. But when Loki presses back against him, when he turns his head to breathe shakily "I want," he cannot help but comply.

* * *

Loki's room is much neater than his own, a fact that is barely registered as Thor presses Loki down on his bed, pressing messy, openmouthed kisses to his neck and feeling his pulse quicken underneath his teeth.

He pushes up Loki's old sleeping T-shirt, mouths at the dusky nipples underneath until they peak, rosy and hard against his fingers. Loki's back arches underneath him, and those long pale fingers thread into Thor's hair and tighten slightly. Whispers of Thor's name fill the air with desperation and desire, and he responds by leaving marks all over Loki's pale skin until the hands in his hair are pushing him down to find a firmness hot against his cheek.

Thor's hand curves around him, pumping roughly, stroking gently through the soft fabric of Loki's black silk boxers. With every stroke, Loki's breath comes in rough sobs as his hips press up relentlessly, reluctantly against his hands.

As Loki's hips start to stutter up erratically and his sobs turn into choked off half-cries and gasps, Thor pulls away; when he turns back, his brother stares at him, a pink flush staining his cheeks and winding its way down his neck and chest. He looks confused, perhaps a bit angry, and Thor grins as his brother frowns at him.

"I was going to come," his brother says, pouting a little, and Thor laughs at his brother's bluntness.  
"Yes, I daresay you were."

Loki props himself up on his elbows, adjusting his glasses as he watches Thor tug off his shirt and toss it unceremoniously on the floor. Thor pulls a condom from the back pocket of his jeans and tosses it on the bed next to Loki; his jeans join his shirt on the floor as he wriggles out of them with a sigh of relief before returning to join Loki on the bed.

"Ought we to be doing this?" Loki asks.

Thor looks at his brother. "No, probably not," he agrees before he rolls over and pins Loki underneath him. "But you can't hear them anymore, right? The people outside?"

"No," Loki murmurs, looking up at him. "I cannot."

"Then don't complain," Thor whispers as he presses his brother's hands above his head.

* * *

Loki winces at the slight burn of Thor's index and middle fingers breaching him, slightly distracted by Thor leaning over and sucking kisses into his chest. He frowns and wriggles a bit under his brother, trying to make it feel more comfortable.

Loki's body tenses suddenly as Thor's fingers curl and press upwards, and he watches with amusement as Loki chokes on a breath before letting it out in a soft groan.

"Feel good?"

Loki nods, presses his hips upward. "Again," he demands breathlessly. And because Loki has never been good at asking nicely, Thor grins and does it again and again until Loki is a writhing mess underneath him.

* * *

Thor slips out of his boxers and tosses them to join Loki's on the floor in a tangle of crimson and black. He watches Loki watch him lazily stroke his erection once, twice, thrice before ripping open the condom packet with his teeth and rolling it on.

Thor watches Loki's brows furrow in pain as he presses into him. Loki is hot and pliant underneath him, tighter than any woman he has been with, and he has to struggle not to force the way.

He draws out slowly, presses in equally as glacially, and they continue in this manner until Loki presses his hips down in frustration.

"Hurry up."

Thor smiles and presses another kiss to his brother's frowning mouth.

And because Thor is not paying attention, and Loki is too focused on the sounds of Thor's breaths and soft grunts, neither of them hear Loki's bedroom door click shut.

* * *

Thor's hips snap against Loki's in double time, and when Loki's breaths are once again coming in fast, erratic sobs, Thor reaches down and hoists a pale leg over his shoulder and grasps Loki's erection in his palm. He strokes at the hot velvety skin in time with his thrusts, his thumb swiping occasionally over the flushed head and rubbing the clear fluid into Loki's skin.

"Please," Loki sobs, his back arching up and his cock jumping in Thor's hand. "I can't."

And because this is the first time Loki has begged, Thor acquiesces and strokes more firmly, thrusts a bit more roughly, and comes in the same moment that Loki shudders violently around him and smears his hand with white with a cry of his name.

* * *

Thor presses a kiss to Loki's cheek as he pulls out. He peels off the condom, careful not to get anything on Loki's cotton sheets, ties it off and goes to the bathroom to throw it away.

Jane/Jennifer is not on the couch when he walks out of Loki's room, his boxers carelessly thrown on. She is not in the bathroom or anywhere else in the apartment, and Thor concludes that she had woken up and left, a thought that is confirmed by the unlocked state of the front door and the absence of her shoes.

He washes up his face and hands before he returns to Loki with a warm wet towel and gently cleans him. His brother watches through lidded eyes, and when he stands up to go, he is surprised by the strength of the thin fingers which reach out and grab his wrist.

"Sleep with me tonight."

It is not a request, and Thor drops the towel onto the pile of his clothes as he crawls into bed beside him, drawing Loki into the protective circle of his arms.

He runs his hands through Loki's long hair and presses soft kisses to the crown of his head. Loki falls asleep with a peaceful half-smile on his face, and Thor hugs him tightly as he drags the sheets up around them.

* * *

Loki is undeniably grateful when he wakes and finds Thor sleeping softly next to him, his features bathed in the soft pinks and golds of early morning. He wriggles himself into the tight circle of Thor's arms, and as he feels the broad chest rising and falling in time with his own, he silently thanks any gods that might exist that this, at least, is real.


	2. Scratches

Crosspost from AO3.

Written to: Sloom - Of Monsters and Men

* * *

Thor takes Loki to a psychiatrist the following weekend. His brother insists he come into the examination room with him, and he agrees readily, presses a steadying hand against his brother's back.

Loki's fingers curl into his palms as he talks to the doctor. Thor tries to pay attention to the questions and the answers, but it sounds absurd, what Loki is describing. It is hard to equate Loki's responses to the young man sitting beside him, even harder to relate it to the little boy Loki still reminds him of sometimes.

"They shout often," Loki says, his hands twisting around in his lap. His voice drops to a whisper as he adds, "They ask me to bleed."

The psychiatrist leans forward, examining Loki carefully over his laced fingers.

"And do you bleed?" he asks.  
"No," Loki murmurs, shooting a sideways glance at Thor, who can only nod encouragingly at him to continue.  
"No? Not once?"

Loki hesitates before saying, "Well, sometimes a man comes in from the outside."  
"What does this man do?"

Loki swallows roughly. "Sometimes nothing. Sometimes he just sits down in the corner of my room and watches me. But other times, he gets angry with me."

"And what happens then?"

Thor watches Loki's brows contort, his mouth twist into a frown. He wants to ask the psychiatrist to stop, wants to tell him that he is hurting his brother and he can't handle that. Loki's right hand reaches out and wraps itself around his own, and he grasps those thin fingers lightly, gently, reassuringly.

"When he's angry he grabs me and just sort of runs his fingers over my skin. He tells me that those places are where I should cut."

The tears in Loki's eyes flow down his cheeks in soft trickles, and Thor reaches out with a tissue to dab them away. Loki's fingers curl in his hand, and Thor can't help but be reminded of how as a toddler Loki would stick his fat fingers unhesitatingly into Thor's larger palm, trusting him not to let go, not to let him get hurt.

He watches Loki's fingers twitching in his own, and bitterly regrets that he cannot protect his brother from himself.

* * *

Weeks of psychiatric appointments pass and December has given way to March before the doctor presses a prescription for Risperdal into Thor's hands and tells him to make sure Loki takes the medicine every day. He rattles off a list of side effects, but all Thor can focus on is Loki's hands curled tightly into the back of his coat.

* * *

It is not until eight days of taking the medicine that Loki refuses it.

"You must take it, Loki," Thor insists, pressing the green pill against his brother's mouth. "It will make you better."

"It will not," Loki mutters from the corner of his mouth. "It makes me feel sick and I don't want it anymore."

Thor taps the pill against his brother's tightly closed lips. "It will make me feel better if you take it."

Loki narrows his eyes at him. "That is cruel of you," he says, but he opens his mouth and accepts the pill without further refusal. Thor watches him take a swallow of water to wash it down with before pressing a soft kiss to his brother's mouth.

* * *

Thor is up late one night, preparing a presentation for his business class the next morning when he hears Loki scream.

He rushes into Loki's room, banging the door against the wall and hastily flicking on the lights. Loki writhes underneath his covers as if in pain, his eyes wide open and terrified, and he doesn't seem to register that Thor's entered the room.

Thor hurries over to his brother, climbs onto his bed, and wraps Loki, comforters and all, into his arms.

"Loki," he says as he struggles to contain his brother's wriggling form. "Loki, stop."

"No!" Loki's voice is high pitched and strung out and terrified. "Get off get off **get off _get off me_**!"

One of Loki's pale, delicate hands wriggle out from under the comforter and rake its way down Thor's face, leaving red scratches in its wake. Thor pulls back, pain stinging down his cheek. He draws away from his brother, presses fingers to his face and draws them back, smears of blood staining his fingertips.

Loki gasps and shudders underneath him, and Thor is harshly reminded of another time when Loki gasped and shuddered underneath him and how this is nothing like that. How this man in the bed is nothing like his dear, sweet brother.

* * *

When Thor stands up the next day to present his paper on the Russian economy, his classmates ask him what happened to his face.

"An animalistic lover?" Sif asks him with a cheeky grin. He brushes her away.

"Someone I don't know," he mutters, and that is all he says on the matter.

* * *

Loki wakes him up one night, asks him if he can sleep with him from now on.

"The shadows in my room are too dark," he says, holding his pillow to his chest and looking at Thor as he stands in the doorway of Thor's bedroom.

"And the shadows here are not as dark?" Thor asks, rubbing a hand over his face as he squints at his brother, illuminated in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

"No," Loki agrees as he walks over and plops his pillow down next to his brother's, sliding easily under the covers. "You make the shadows brighter so the people that hide in the corners of my room cannot step in."

* * *

Thor asks his brother one night if he can draw them.

"Draw who?" Loki asks, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and bookmarking the page in a biology textbook.

"The man that you see," Thor clarifies.

Loki is silent for a long moment before he sets the textbook aside on the bed and pads off to his room. When he returns, he presses a small, creased square of paper into Thor's hand. Thor unfolds it to find a page of penciled sketches, the strokes black and desperate and pressed deeply into the page as if to ground them.

The man in question is not particularly remarkable, but Thor turns to Loki, reaches for his hands, and presses kisses to his palms, up his arms.

"What are you doing?" Loki asks him.

"Let me erase his touch," Thor murmurs against Loki's milky skin as he kisses away imaginary touches.

He stands up, takes off Loki's glasses and sets them gently on the bedside table as he kisses Loki's forehead, his eyebrows, eyelids. "Let me remove the shadows from your eyes."

He presses kisses to Loki's ears, tugging lightly at the pale, slender earlobes. "Let me take away the voices."

He presses kisses into the hollow of Loki's throat and silently wills his brother to think of nothing but him.

* * *

Thor is undeniably grateful as he presses into Loki, the milky skin of his chest and thighs bathed in the soft pinks and golds of early morning, soft and wet and melting under Thor's hands.

His brother is still waking, his body arching up reflexively into Thor's touch, soft whimpers spilling from his mouth.

"Thor," he whispers. "Please..."

One of Loki's hands curls and clutches at his pillow desperately in an effort to ground himself, the other reaching out and resting lightly against Thor's chest. But he is not pushing him away, and Thor lifts one of his hands from Loki's narrow hips to hold his hand there.

It doesn't take long at all for Loki to shudder and gasp underneath him, his cock weeping and striping come over his stomach, his insides contracting insistently. As Thor comes, he feels Loki raking four sharp scratches against his chest, and he cannot help but think how this man in the bed can be nothing but his dear, sweet brother.


	3. Sketches

Crosspost from AO3.

Written to: It's Been a Year - Greg Laswell

Additional Note: Alright, alright, changing the status of this story to incomplete since several people have requested it be made a large story. Please send me any good music by giving me the song/artist name in a review or PM so the story can continue to grow! Thanks.

* * *

There is no other way to say it. Loki has gained weight.

Thor cracks open an eye and hugs the pillow closer to his head, watching the rosy early morning sunlight spill over his brother's body as Loki struggles into a pair of dark jeans. He has to hold in a laugh as Loki hops from one foot to the other, wriggling his hips and shaking his bum - rather provocatively, Thor thinks as he feels the reluctant stirrings of an erection against the mattress - as he tries to draw the dark denim up his legs.

Loki sighs as he finally manages to get the button and zipper done. "They didn't use to be so tight before," he grouses to himself as he stuffs his notebooks into his messenger bag.

Thor closes his eyes quickly when Loki starts to turn towards the bed. He can feel his brother's stare, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the laugh that threatens to ruin him.

The mattress dips a bit as Loki perches himself carefully on the edge, tentatively reaching out to push a strand of golden hair behind Thor's ear. He bends over and presses a shy kiss to Thor's cheek, and Thor lets himself smile.

* * *

"I am fat," Loki announces as he walks through the door after his lab session that day, the tails of his white lab coat flapping against his knees, dropping his messenger bag on the floor.

"I - you what now?" Thor asks, trying - and failing - very hard to draw his gaze away from Loki's backside, which passes him too quickly as his brother plops down on the sofa next to him.

Loki looks at him, before repeating very slowly, "I have gained weight."  
"I suppose you have," Thor says. "But I would not venture to say you are fat."  
Loki looks down at his jeans. "This is my favourite pair of pants," he pouts, "and it's hard to fit into them now."

Thor rolls his eyes. "This is a common side effect of your medicine, Loki. You know that."  
Loki opens his mouth to protest that, yes, he knows, but he hates it, but Thor interrupts him.

"This," he says, running his hand over the length of Loki's thigh, "is my favourite pair of legs, and if you were unable to wear any of your pants, I for one would not mind."

Loki blushes, a brilliant scarlet colour flooding his cheeks and darting quickly across the bridge of his nose, but he does not make any moves to push Thor's hand away.

"You have had much practice in saying pretty things," Loki murmurs, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears, and Thor laughs.

"Never have I meant it as much before."

* * *

"Loki," Thor says one evening three weeks into April. "I have signed us up for an art class."

Loki arches an eyebrow as he looks at his brother across the dining table, where, Thor is displeased to note, he isn't eating as much as he ought to.

"Why an art class? You don't really like drawing," Loki replies, pushing around the noodles in his bowl.

"It will be good for you," Thor says firmly. "I have been reading about schizophrenia, and many of the things recommend group therapy." At this, Loki tenses, and Thor hastens to explain. "Of course I thought you would not like that, so I read about other things also. Lots of people say art is good, also."

Loki rolls his eyes. "And I suppose your books also say things about dancing outside wearing only a tea towel and chanting to the skies as a way to release stress," he snorts as he twirls his fork around his fingers.

Thor shrugs. "I would do whatever they said, if it might make you feel better."

There is silence for a moment, and Thor wonders what his brother is thinking. Then Loki sighs dramatically.

"Fine. I will go with you to this art class of yours."

Thor smiles gleefully and thanks Loki profusely, and, as he gathers up the dishes and notices Loki's half finished bowl of pasta, he decides to leave that issue for another day.

* * *

Thor watches as Loki smears shadows into his thick, creamy paper with the side of his hand, staining the edges of his fingers with charcoal. Loki's green eyes dart over his face, then back to his paper as he sketches Thor's face.

Loki pushes up his glasses from where they have slipped, and leaves a little streak of charcoal on the bridge of his nose. Thor bursts out laughing, because Loki really does look silly, but his brother frowns at him and tells him to stop laughing so that he can finish drawing.

"Look," Loki commands as he unpins the sketch so Thor can see. "What do you think?"

Thor smiles as he looks at Loki's sketch, at his features mirrored back at him in varying shades of black and grey. "It is lovely, Loki," he says truthfully, admiring his brother's talent. "It looks very much like me."

"Yes," Loki agrees. "That is the point."  
He turns the easel around to Thor and pins a new, creamy page to it, hands Thor a stick of charcoal. "Here, it's your turn."

"You know I am not good at drawing, Loki. I would shame your likeness."

"Being good at drawing does not always mean you can draw exactly what you see," Loki explains. "All you have to do is make the first mark." Loki smiles at Thor, and Thor looks admires the curves of Loki's mouth, the smudge of charcoal on his nose, and he sets the charcoal to the paper.

* * *

Even though Thor's drawing comes out looking more like a cat, Loki tells him that it is a brilliant drawing.

"Now sign it," Loki tells him. "That's to let people know that it's yours."

Thor watches his brother sign his own drawing, pressing the elegant lines of the "L" and the "k" into the corners of the page.

"See? This is mine," Loki says as he holds up the drawing, and Thor cannot help but agree.

* * *

Thor watches Loki as he sleeps, the lamplight playing gently across his face and casting his long eyelashes into delicate shadows across his cheekbones.

Thor likes him like this, he decides. His face has filled out a little, his cheeks no longer quite so hollow, not quite so pinched. The shadows under his eyes have cleared up, and his lips are just the slightest bit fuller, the slightest bit plumper, the slightest bit redder.

Better for kissing, Thor muses as he bookmarks the page in his finance textbook for a short break from cramming.

Loki's skin has lost that strange, unhealthy pallor of the past and glows with a freshness that Thor can only recall from their childhood days. And his brother has always been good with regimens of lotion and moisturizers to keep his skin from cracking and peeling, but Thor finds himself marveling even more at the soft way the delicate pads of Loki's fingers can so easily worry the head of his cock while the other hand's digits are buried in the pages of a book.

Thor can still feel the bones of his brother's ribcage, but they are layered over more now; he doesn't look quite so malnourished, and Thor is no longer so worried about breaking him if he thrusts too hard, if he bites too sharply.

* * *

Loki watches his brother studying from underneath his eyelashes. Even though Thor is next to him, his figure is slightly blurry and Loki finds himself once again wishing he had perfect vision.

He watches Thor worry his bottom lip between his teeth as he narrows his eyes at a particularly stubborn paragraph, and Loki has to force himself to think about anything but how those lips sucked kisses into his chest and made purple flowers bloom underneath his skin.

He closes his eyes tightly as his brother closes his textbook with a soft snap and turns to look at him. He struggles not to grin and hopes Thor won't see the blush that is bubbling up underneath his cheeks, won't come close enough to notice the telltale beginnings of arousal. His brother has a final tomorrow and it wouldn't do to disrupt his studies.

The mattress dips slightly as Thor leans over and tucks an errant strand of glossy black hair behind the curve of Loki's ear, brushes a kiss against Loki's cheek, and Loki lets himself smile.


	4. Sleeves

Crosspost from AO3. Written to: The Crooked Kind - Radical Face

* * *

The end of semester business school party is held the first weekend of May; it's always been held the first weekend of the final month of term, and every semester Thor has entered confidently with a lovely date on his arm.

This semester is only different in that he is opting to take Loki instead.

"Loki," he says one lazy Sunday afternoon at the end of April as they lie tangled in his sheets and he runs his fingers through Loki's dark hair.

"Hmm?" Loki mumbles sleepily, his voice pressed into Thor's chest.

"Would you like to come with me to the end of term party?" he asks, fingers gently massaging Loki's scalp. Loki seems to enjoy that and rubs back into his hand for a few moments before answering.

"I'm not part of the business school," Loki finally says, green eyes looking up to meet Thor's blue ones.

"No," Thor agrees. "I meant as my date. What would the fun be if only business students got to take other business students as dates? Contrary to popular belief, it's not much fun at all."

Loki eyes him as if trying to read his mind. He sighs before resting his cheek against Thor's chest again. "Your friends will not like me," he says with an air of finality that makes it seem he has already decided against it. "I would not fit in well there, you know that. And besides, it would be rather difficult to explain this," Loki adds, gesturing vaguely in the air.

Thor spends a few quiet moments twirling the baby fine hairs at the base of Loki's neck around his fingers.

"It is love," Thor says finally. He can feel Loki smile against his skin.

"It is not something other people might care to take the time to understand," Loki murmurs.

Loki's breathing evens out against his chest, and Thor wonders if his brother has already fallen asleep. He shifts positions a little, trying to reach the top sheet to drape it over their tangled bodies, before Loki mumbles something so quietly Thor has to ask him to repeat it.

"What was that, Loki?" he whispers.

Loki doesn't even open his eyes as his lips move languidly, barely breathing the words.

"But yes, it is love."

* * *

It takes two more days before Loki finally, reluctantly, tells Thor that he will go to his party with him.

It is only five hours after his acceptance that Loki tells Thor that he absolutely cannot go.

"I have nothing to wear," he laments as he digs through his closet, pulling out T-shirts and old sweaters with unraveling sleeves and holding them up to his chest before putting them down on the bed. Thor watches in amusement as he leans against the doorway to Loki's bedroom.

"Maybe this," Loki mutters to himself as he pulls out a deep green, almost black dress shirt. He shrugs out of his white V-neck and Thor has to force himself not to just walk over and bite kisses into the lovely expanse of soft, creamy skin. Instead, he watches as Loki folds up the cuffs of the shirt before pushing his arms through the sleeves and wrapping it around himself.

The material compliments Loki's pale skin and green eyes very well, and Thor tracks every movement of his brother's slim fingers as he tugs the black buttons through the buttonholes. The top two buttons of the dress shirt are conspicuously absent, and Thor watches Loki frown down at the white V of skin that remains open before trying to smooth down the lapels of the shirt.

Loki eyes himself critically in the mirror, before sighing and running a hand through his hair.

"It is missing buttons," he says, as if Thor might have overlooked that part. "This is the only suitable thing," he pouts as he looks mournfully into his closet, now full of empty hangers. "And even this is too tight," he mutters, looking down the length of his body in the mirror and prodding at the sides of his chest where the green fabric clings and strains the tiniest bit.

Thor walks over to him and wraps his arms around him from behind, resting his head on top of Loki's and meeting his eyes in the mirror.

"I think you look gorgeous like this, Loki," he says truthfully. "It makes you look very beautiful."

"And," Thor adds, smiling a bit wickedly as his hands venture up and caress Loki's nipples over the shirt, "it doesn't leave much up to the imagination."

Loki blushes as Thor rubs, pinches, massages, eventually tilts his head to the side to allow Thor to pepper his neck with little kisses.

Thor grins against Loki's pulse, takes his brother's hand and leads him over to his bed.

* * *

It is half an hour after Loki's only dress shirt is utterly, irreparably debauched that Loki pushes himself off of Thor, wriggles into a discarded pair of jeans, and tells Thor he will be back later.  
Thor waits until he hears the front door of the apartment close before he runs the tip of his finger over a rapidly drying streak of white on the front of Loki's green shirt and presses it into his mouth.

It tastes like Loki, he thinks. Acid and salt and a little bit of sweetness if you thought about it the right way.

* * *

When Loki returns, the long fingers of sunset have already reached out over the kitchen floor where Thor is trying to convince himself that whatever's in the pan will be edible.

"Ahem." Loki clears his throat indignantly after a few minutes, as Thor continues to stare forlornly into the stove and mourn the loss of what was once a chicken.

Thor turns to look at him.

Loki grins. "It looks good, doesn't it?"

Loki is dressed in a deep green and grey argyle sweater vest. Thor can see the sharp, white creases of dress shirt lapels framing his brother's slim neck and providing delicious contrast to the small red bitemarks that haven't yet faded. The sleeves of white dress shirt that Loki wears underneath are rolled up to his elbows and Thor, chicken forgotten, walks over to Loki and takes his hands in his own before pressing him up against the kitchen wall.

"Thor, wait," Loki protests halfheartedly as Thor gently nudges apart his thighs. "These are brand new."

"We can get them dry cleaned," Thor breathes into the curve of Loki's neck, and signals the end of the discussion by pressing his mouth against Loki's.

* * *

Loki clings tightly to Thor's hand as Thor leads him into the hotel ballroom that's been temporarily repurposed to include flashing strobe lights, intolerably loud EDM, and copious amounts of alcohol. Thor drags Loki with him as he walks around the ballroom and greets several groups of classmates and colleagues, all of whom wave back at him in varying states of intoxication.

A few of them look curiously at Loki, and Loki stares back at them and tries to ignore the pounding headache growing steadily behind his eyes. He doesn't particularly understand what Thor finds so enjoyable about these things, but as he watches Thor laugh at some finance joke, he squeezes his eyes shut, wraps his fingers tighter around Thor's, and thinks that he can tolerate this for just a little while.

* * *

"You will be alright, Loki?" Thor asks him anxiously as he deposits Loki with a glass of champagne in a chair ensconced in the shadows of an isolated corner of the ballroom. Loki opens his mouth to respond, but Thor is already being dragged away to dance with a brunette whose giggles have the unfortunate effect of piercing straight through Loki's eardrums.

"I will be alright," Loki says, even though Thor is not there to hear it and Loki doesn't quite believe it himself.

* * *

He watches Thor and the woman circle the ballroom for a second time, their laughing faces and mouths altogether too close, and Loki wonders what they are talking about. If they are talking about him.

* * *

As they pass him for the third time, he swears he hears the woman saying something along the lines of, "How sweet you are, taking out your crazy brother for a little piece of fun."

It is worse when Thor nods in response, and Loki pinches the bridge of his nose to try and contain the pain that seems to be prodding at the backs of his eyeballs.

Loki squeezes the glass of champagne in his hand tightly, too tightly, and he watches detachedly as the bubbles pop lightly on his dress shoes, as a small curl of blood trickles down his fingers.

* * *

At the fourth cycle, Loki stands up. Walks over to the woman and Thor. Thor sees him over the woman's shoulder and smiles at him. Thor does not see the shard of glass in Loki's hand, and perhaps the flashing strobe lights conceal the anger sparking in his brother's green eyes.

* * *

The infinitesimally short span of silence between songs is shattered by a scream.

Thor goes from pleasantly smashed to terrifyingly sober in a matter of seconds, as the woman in his arms pushes frantically against him in an effort to get away from Loki, a stream of blood spilling down her arm.

The hall lights come on, the strobe lights flick off, and Thor looks up to see Loki clutching a jagged triangle of glass and gesturing with it towards the girl in his arms with a shaking hand.

"Loki!" Thor's voice is loud in the sudden silence. "What are you doing?"

Loki doesn't look at him.

"You can't take him away," Loki says, and Thor is shocked by how matter-of-factly his brother sounds. "They will hurt me if you do. He is the only one they are afraid of."

The girl just stares at him, her terrified sobs echoing in Thor's ears.

He watches as if in slow motion as Loki reaches forward again, the broken glass held aloft. Watches as hotel security officers in official blue uniforms come hurrying in through the crowd. Watches as one of them grab Loki's wrist in a strong grip, making his hand open and letting the glass fall to the ground.

He watches as they drag Loki away roughly, tearing the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and he wants to tell them that wait, they can't do that, those clothes are brand new, but they are and Thor, for the first time that night, cannot seem to find the right words that would bring Loki back.

* * *

It is four days after the end of term party when Thor is finally allowed to see Loki in the hospital. Loki has had to be sedated for his own protection, the nurse explains to him as he signs the visitor log. She mentions something about relapses and acute psychotic episodes and suicidal thoughts, and Thor doesn't listen to her because he does not, cannot, will not connect those things to his brother.

He brings purple orchids, because he knows Loki loves those, and sets them gently on the nightstand by his brother's bed. Loki is sleeping deeply, the only sounds in the room the occasional blip of the various machines and monitors.

Thor watches the soft, steady drip of the saline IV into his brother's veins, lifts Loki's limp hand to his lips, and covers the bandages with kisses as he sobs and sobs and sobs.


	5. Streaks

Written to Family - Della Ding. Crosspost from AO3

* * *

After two long weeks, the doctors tell Thor that he can take Loki home. The psychiatrist he had met with before tells him in the hospital lobby that this is normal, that having psychotic relapses is normal for patients with schizophrenia, that he shouldn't be extremely worried about it.

"Sometimes it takes a while before we can figure out that person's particular biology and get them the appropriate dosage they need," the psychiatrist explains. "I'm going to suggest moving Loki to 6 mg of Risperdal from 4."

Thor wants to tell the doctor that he doesn't particularly care what he suggests, that he just wants his brother to feel better and not sick, when an orderly wheels Loki out the elevator.

Loki's face brightens when he sees Thor waiting for him. Against the orderly's instructions to remain in the wheelchair, he stands up and runs into Thor's waiting arms.

Loki smells like disinfectant and the sharp tang of rubbing alcohol, but as Thor presses his brother's head into his shoulder and feels his breath in hot puffs through the cloth, he thinks there has never been a more welcome scent.

* * *

While Loki is retaking his final examinations for that term, Thor stands in line at the grocery store to pick up his prescription.

The pharmacist who charges his card looks at him pityingly.

"You're a brave man," she says. "Not everyone can deal with people like this."  
The pills shudder in the white paper bag as Thor takes them from her.  
"It's hard," he admits. "But I have to. I love him very much."

The pharmacist nods at him, wishes him a nice day.

In the front seat of his car, Thor looks at the tiny orange bottle of pills, mouths the words "6 mg [1 capsule] to be administered daily" to himself. He presses the bottle to his mouth and silently begs the tiny capsules to work this time around.

* * *

That evening during dinner, Loki reaches across the dining table and puts his hand over Thor's.

"What?" Thor asks, looking at the stitches running across the tops of Loki's fingers before looking up at him.

"I didn't mean to do it," Loki says, his eyes bright with tears. "I didn't mean to."

"I know," Thor murmurs, turning his hand over and gently stroking Loki's fingers. "I know you didn't. I'm sorry I left you. I shouldn't have."

When Thor looks up again, he finds Loki crying into his rice, biting at the back of his other hand to stifle his sobs. Thor sighs, walks around the table and gently pulls Loki into a hug. Loki's arms cling tightly to him, and Thor can feel the shuddering of his brother's shoulders all throughout his bones.

When Loki's sobs have diminished into soft hiccups, Thor gently pulls back, cradles Loki's face in his hands, wipes away stray tears with his thumbs.

"Don't let go," Loki whispers, his voice catching.

"No," Thor promises. "Never."

* * *

That night as they lie in bed, Loki's head pillowed on Thor's chest, Loki voices something he'd been worrying about.

"How are we going to tell Mum and Dad?" he asks quietly. "About everything."  
Thor runs a hand through Loki's hair, still slightly damp from his recent shower.

"I don't know," he says simply. "Maybe they don't need to know everything yet. We'll probably have to tell them about the schizophrenia, though."

The diagnosis, ugly and thick in the darkness, swells in the air over them. Thor watches the soft bright streaks of car headlights sweep over the opposite wall as he absentmindedly curls Loki's hair around his fingers. They do nothing to lighten the room.

"They've probably known this whole time," Loki murmurs. "Since I was ten. That this would happen."

"It doesn't really change anything, though," Thor points out. "Mum still loves you, Dad still loves you. So even if they did know about it, it wouldn't change how they feel about you. You're their son, too, you know. They'll understand."

Thor feels the soft tickle of Loki's eyelashes against his chest.

"And you?" Loki asks quietly. "Do you understand?"  
Thor sighs a bit, tightens his fingers a little against Loki's scalp.

"I don't know if I do. I've never been good at this sciency stuff. I don't understand why this is happening to you or how scary it must be for you. I don't get how those little green pills are supposed to make you feel better. I don't really understand any of this," Thor admits.

Loki tenses a bit against him, before Thor continues, resuming his gentle stroking of Loki's hair.

"I do understand this, though," Thor murmurs, tugging soft, ebony strands so Loki looks up at him. "I understand that I love you. I love all of you. That's all I need to understand, isn't it? It's enough."

Loki drops his head back onto Thor's chest, the fingers of his left hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on Thor's skin.

"I love you too," he says quietly. "Always. Even when I'm...like that. I don't want to lose you."

Thor gently plays with Loki's hair until his brother falls asleep.

* * *

Odin and Frigga are waiting at the airport, waving big signs around with their names on them. Thor grins, grabs Loki's wrist, and runs over to them. He scoops his mother until a hug, spinning her around, greets his father heartily. Loki hangs back a little before cautiously hugging Frigga and greeting Odin with a shy nod.

"Loki," Frigga admonishes gently in the car on the way home, "you should try to eat more, sweetie. You're far too thin; I can count your ribs through your shirt."

Loki has the good graces to look embarrassed, and Thor chooses not to say anything about Loki's impromptu stay in the hospital.

He reaches out across the backseat and covers Loki's hand with his own, squeezing reassuringly.

* * *

Thor is drying dishes with Frigga one night four days after they come home when the words bubbling up in the back of his throat demand an exit; he starts to say, "Loki has -"

Frigga interrupts him, swatting him with a dishtowel.

"That is your brother's decision, when he wants to tell us," she says, looking at Thor sternly. "It is not your place to do it for him."

Thor looks suitably ashamed, and goes back to drying forks.  
Frigga places a hand on his arm, and he looks back at her.

"I know you feel angry, upset, confused maybe, about why this is happening," she says, gentler this time.

Thor worries at the tines of a fork with his blue dishcloth. "I feel so helpless," he admits. "I don't know what to do, Mom."

Frigga gently pats his arm. "There isn't much you can do. It's not something you can touch, it's not something you can beat halfway to death on a school playground." Frigga smiles fondly at the memory. "You remember that, don't you? You were all of eight years old, and you thought it would be a good idea to fight some sixth graders much bigger than you because they'd been teasing Loki. My goodness, your father was fuming mad over that for quite a while."

She traces a scar just underneath Thor's left eyebrow.

"You've always been a good older brother, Thor," she says, smiling at him. "This is just one of those things you can't hope to protect him from. You just need to be there with him, keeping him safe, keeping him happy."

Thor stacks the last utensil in the drawer, and turns to leave. His mother's voice makes him stop at the kitchen doorway.

"Don't leave him behind, Thor," she calls out softly. "It's a big world out there, and people might not take the time to understand your brother. He'll never be like you, big and muscly and with a booming voice to tell everyone he's there, he's important. He's a brilliant young man, but even brilliant young men are blindsided by the unexpected."

* * *

On a warm Saturday evening in the middle of July, when they are all sitting outside drinking iced tea and lemonade, Loki finally decides it is time.

"Mum, Dad," he says, looking over at them shyly. Frigga looks up from her sewing, and Odin looks up from the baseball scores. Thor watches the exchange tensely.

"I'm...schizophrenic."

Thor watches Loki furiously scrub at his face with the heel of one hand, trying to stave off unwanted tears.

"I hurt a girl a few months ago. I cut her with some glass." The words catch in Loki's throat, and he looks down at his shoes for a few moments. Frigga reaches out and pats his arm gently.

"We know," she says quietly. "We know all about it."  
Loki looks up at her, confused, his green eyes shimmering slightly in the dim porch light.

"We're still listed as emergency contacts on your health insurance, dear," Frigga says kindly. "The hospital contacted us after they admitted you. Told us everything."

Loki crosses and uncrosses his fingers, looking anywhere but at his parents. Frigga pats his arm encouragingly.

"You...aren't mad?" Loki asks finally, not meeting their eyes.

"No, of course not," Frigga says. "Perhaps a little upset that you didn't tell us sooner, but that is your choice. Nobody can fault you for that. We're just happy you're alive and here with us."

"Does this change anything?"

Odin clears his throat, finally speaks up. "No. This doesn't change anything. So you're schizophrenic. So what? You're still our son, you'll always be our son."

Frigga smiles at her husband approvingly, and he harrumphs a bit before burying his head back in the sports section of the newspaper. Loki smiles, a bit tearily.

"Thanks," he murmurs.

A passing car illuminates them for a moment, its headlights coating the porch with delicate yellow streaks, and Thor smiles at the silhouettes of his family.

It no longer seems so dark.


End file.
